


Light is Only Now Just Breaking

by Amasa



Category: Glee
Genre: Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-10
Updated: 2010-11-10
Packaged: 2017-10-13 03:52:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/132534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amasa/pseuds/Amasa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for pyroclastic @ LJ as fic-payment for being awesome. Blaine/Kurt, 2x06 spoilers. Blaine takes Kurt out to lunch. First-person POV.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Light is Only Now Just Breaking

Kurt reminds me of myself.

Not a lot. I'm not as into fashion as he is, for one thing, and Kurt's obviously got one hell of a good eye on him. I mean, take today. Blue is a beautiful color on him, makes his wide eyes sharp and bright. I can picture him arranging his scarf for fifteen minutes in one of those spotlight mirrors, winding it around the collar of his jacket ten different ways until the fringe trails just exactly right over his shoulder. Even the brown leather satchel is well-chosen, goes really nicely with the blue. And the black skinny jeans – kid's legs look a thousand miles long in those.

I always thought I was too short to pull that off, and when I'm out of my Dalton uniform, it's just Levis and Converse and a shirt, all kind of thoughtlessly thrown together. Comfortable, but not especially daring. Good thing Dalton's got a uniform, kinda takes some weight off my shoulders there.

And hell, Kurt's stronger than I was, right? Every day, he walks back into the mouth of Hell with his head held high. Every damned day, and I know the kind of courage that takes, because I didn't have it; like I told him straight-up, I ran away. Even with the financial aid Dalton gives me, it's tough for my parents to pay that tuition bill every semester, but it was either that or rack up lawyers' fees to sue my school, and my parents chose Dalton.

But still, Kurt reminds me of myself.

Anger, for one — we share that. Kurt's eyes fill with tears, his chin jerks up; my jaw tenses, my fists clench, but it's anger. We share pain — how not? And I remember very keenly what it's like to feel that alone. Hurts like winter wind hurts when you step outside with tear tracks on your face, hurts like being skinned, like you're standing raw and naked down to the muscle, down to the bone, and everyone goes about their day like your heart's not trickling your lifeblood down your chest right there, right in front of them. Like you're a ghost, a grayscale spectre in a world full of color and with every gaze that slides right over you, you feel yourself dissipating, you feel like smoke, wisping into clouds until no one remembers you were there.

It's been a long time since I felt that kind of rage and pain and isolation. Not since I ran away. But now, here? Boy. It comes rushing back to me, and when Kurt quietly points out the guy who kissed him — the guy who _forced_ a kiss on him — it is all I can do to keep my voice pleasant, stable, and above all, calm.

The guy is twice Kurt's _size_. Hell, he's twice _mine_. I feel Kurt hovering behind me, and there's this surge of protectiveness in my chest that would take me aback if I weren't so focused on trying to reach this guy. What's his name. Karofsky.

At Dalton, if anyone had tried to shove me up against a chain-link fence the way Karofsky does, there would have been ten different hands tearing him off of me, and at least half of them would have belonged to teachers. Here, that red jacket's some kind of shield, like the guy's got diplomatic immunity because of the letters on his back. It flashes me back — I remember what it was like, rough wall bruising my shoulderblades, some guy snarling slurs down his nose at me, the way everyone walked on by because it would be way too messy to get involved.

But I'm not that scared kid anymore, left to struggle on alone the best I can. Kurt is.

When Kurt sits on the steps, shaking, I really feel for him. I pat his back and feel the fine trembling running through him. He's not crying, but when he looks over at me and gives me that crooked little smile like he can play off the hurt and shame in his eyes if he just tilts his lips up, it gets to me, not gonna lie. He tells me he'd never been kissed before, and I get all choked up, but I get him up and moving with another bracing pat on the back.

Lunch. Walking. Food. Because Kurt needs to know that the world goes on. I stick close by him, ignoring the curious looks I get walking next to Kurt in my Dalton uniform. I'm not here for anyone else, so let them get an eyeful.

His school cafeteria's all right. Kurt's very careful about his food, manages to whip together one hell of a salad from the admittedly paltry offerings. I go for a burger and fries, and Kurt raises his eyebrow at me a little bit. I grin at him; he chuckles quietly, dropping his gaze.

World keeps turning. You know?

We get a small table to ourselves in the back. Kurt's just picking at his salad, really, so I ham it up with the burger like I'm a dinosaur tearing into a lesser dinosaur's meaty flesh, complete with a ferocious growl. He blinks up at me, an eyebrow twitching. "I didn't think you were actually that, um, hungry," he ventures.

"Sure am."

Kurt sighs a little, shakily, poking his plastic fork at some iceberg lettuce. "I'm sorry. I feel like I'm wasting your money. I don't have an appetite right now."

"Sorry? Don't be. You'll just owe me lunch next time."

Pink spots of color appear on his cheekbones, though he doesn't look up as he rolls a baby tomato around the paper bowl. "'Next time'?" he inquires, his tone almost arch.

"Next time," I repeat firmly. "I mean, heck, you got to see the spiral staircase at Dalton, the senior commons... you haven't shown me around this place at all."

Kurt shrugs his slender shoulders. "Not much to see aside from the open courtyard. I can't believe the school wasted money building that, honestly. We're in O-freaking-hio. We can't use it for half the year."

"It's pretty nice, though," I offer.

"I guess." Kurt falls quiet again. He spears a baby tomato and just kind of stares down at it.

That won't do at all. I lean forward. "Nuh-uh, Kurt."

"'Nuh-uh' what?" Kurt narrows his eyes at me, but there's no sparkle in that blue, no shine. That really won't do at all.

"I didn't drive however many miles I drove here just to watch you play with your food. Chin up, kid, okay? At least eat a leaf or something." I smile at him. "You can gnaw on it like a little bunny rabbit."

Kurt turns even pinker. "Blaine," he hisses, and my smile becomes a grin before I realize it, because there's that spirit I was missing. "Oh my God. I'm nothing like a _rabbit_. That is the most unattractive —"

"You think so? I don't. I think it's cute." I raise my eyebrows at him. "Eat up before I decide I have to feed you by hand."

"You wouldn't! Everyone's _here_." Kurt's still blushing, but his glance flickers around the crowded cafeteria, torn with fear and consternation.

"So?"

"Okay, okay!" Kurt puts the baby tomato in his mouth and stares at me while he chews it, his lips all pinched and his eyebrows up as though he is issuing some kind of personal challenge. His blue eyes get all flinty, and hell if it's not completely adorable.

I laugh, gently, so that he knows it's not at him. "There you go. And now you repeat until your bowl's empty. See how it goes?"

Kurt swallows. "Blaine... why do you care?" he says after a long moment. "I mean — you didn't have to come all this way, I was just, I panicked... I can't tell my best friend," he snorts, sadly, "because she'll have to go to jail after she makes a bowtie out of Karofsky's spine, and I'm so..." His breath shivers out of him, and he presses his lips together for a moment. I feel him holding his breath as if I'm the one doing it, too. "I just, I feel so..."

"Alone?" I prompt. Kurt nods mutely, and God, this kid. "Kurt, look at me." He does, and I know that I keep harping on his eyes, but they're beautiful. No wonder Karofsky's all torn up over Kurt. The kid doesn't even know how much of a gem he is, what a catch he's going to be for some amazingly lucky guy who treats him like gold. "I'm doing this because _you're_ not alone, got it? You. Are not. Alone. You can call me, and I'll do eighty down the freeway for you every time, okay?"

"But _why?_ "

"Maybe because I wish someone would have done it for me," I admit softly. "Maybe for the kid you'll help one day, two years from now when you're the big guy on campus." Kurt snorts at that, lashes twitching against his cheek. "Maybe because someday? Someday really soon, Kurt? Some guy you're crazy for is going to lean in and kiss you and it'll be everything right, everything you deserve. The first kiss that the world _owes_ you for being as brave and as open as you are."

"I don't believe that's ever going to happen." Kurt is chewing on the inside of his cheek, and his words are barely a whisper. "I really don't."

"I'll believe it for you till it does, kiddo, because I _know_ it will."

This kid and his unbelievable eyes when he looks up at me. I can read them like a book — the fear, disbelief and pain, the shame, and worst of all, hardest of all, but most precious and most important of all — the hope. Kurt lets out a long breath, closing his eyes. He doesn't cry, because he's so much braver and so much stronger than I have ever been.

"Now eat your salad."

"Fine," Kurt says, and finally, when he smiles this time, wobbly and small, but there, it's real. I bite into my hamburger again with wild over-enthusiasm just to make him shake his head with that tiny, sweet giggle of his.

He starts eating, really eating, and the conversation drifts to safer ground. I ask him where he got his jacket, and he tells me about the seven different coupon and sales mailing lists he's on and writes down a couple of web sites for me, and by the time he has to get to class, some color has returned to that pale face of his, his spirit back, burnished bright. I clap him in a hard hug goodbye regardless of anyone passing by, and he presses his face into my shoulder silently, so I hold him for a few seconds longer than I meant to, my nose against his sweet-smelling hair. When he pulls away, I keep my hands on his shoulders and lower my head, meeting his gaze seriously.

"Courage, all right?"

"I'll remember," he says with an earnest nod.

This kid.

I chuck his chin. He blinks up at me, smiling. "Text me, all right?" I tell him. "Call me whenever. 3 AM. Doesn't matter. I mean it."

He nods again, wordlessly, eyes shining, so I lift a hand to wave goodbye before I pull him into another hug, and it's only when I'm walking away that I realize how hard my heart's beating in my chest, how tight it is trying to get some air in my lungs. In the car, I feel my phone go off, so I check my messages.

 _Thank you. – Kurt._

I text him back real quick — _Anytime._ — and pull out of the school's parking lot, smiling as I remember his smile.


End file.
